Singer Sophie Ellis-Bextor with some of her doll collection. Photograph: David Levene for the Guardian

It took time for me to realise I was a collector. I used to say: “I don’t collect dolls, I just keep buying them” – until someone saw them on my shelves and I finally realised that’s exactly what I was doing. I have around 60 now: I don’t do things by halves.

When I was six, I collected stamps. I was inspired by my grandfather on my dad’s side and my great-grandfather on my mum’s side. They’d get out their old stamp collections to show me, and I loved the pictures and the stories. At that age, I also loved wondering how valuable some of them might be. I fantasised that I’d be very wealthy if I collected the right ones. In the end, I grew out of stamps. I found it too serious – maybe that’s why I got into dolls.

A Mouseketeer doll that Sophie bought from eBay. Photograph: David Levene/Guardian

Most of my dolls are cheap and cheerful, from car boot sales, charity shops and eBay. Archiving and categorising doesn’t do it for me either. I’m not precious about any of the things I collect. I wouldn’t want anything in the house that the kids weren’t allowed to touch. My dolls are all over the place: in our sitting room, the boys’ rooms and the den. They’re used to me having weird bits and bobs lying around. The eldest has even got into collecting. He’s currently after a 1980s Beetlejuice toy.

‘They all have a personality and a charm,’ says Sophie. Photograph: David Levene for the Guardian/The Guardian

Friends come round, look at the dolls and say: “I couldn’t have that in my room, it’s so spooky,” and I say: “Calm down, it’s only a doll.” I like the bizarre way they look. Maybe they’re a bit macabre but I find that amusing. I collect 50s and 60s picture books, postcards and posters, too, and I love the aesthetic of that era, the innocence of it, everything being picture perfect, neat and sweet. The dolls evoke that.

I have had one or two arrive that were too weird even for me. I once found a clown doll on eBay from the Moscow Cat Theatre, famous for their “cat performers” and “cat clowns”. When the doll came, I thought: I can’t keep this. He looked terrifying, big orange hair in a halo and a clown face. I had to give it away to a friend. I say I like the freaky ones but, really, what I like about my dolls is that they’re a representation of humans. They all have a personality and a charm.

My favourite doll is Blythe. It was a quest to find her. She was only available in the shops for one year, 1972, a reject because the kids didn’t like her. I came across her because someone in the States made a photographic book about her having all sorts of different adventures (Blythe by Gina Garan). She’s an absurd-looking thing, with an enormous head in relation to her body, but I thought she looked cool in an odd way. One of my friends said she looks like me. It took me two years to find one that was in good condition but not too expensive. In the end, I paid around £200. She was later mass-produced in Japan and there’s now a shop in Tokyo dedicated to her. I think the newer ones are worth £500-600 now but I never buy for the investment.

Sophie exchanged these dolls with a friend for a clown doll that was too weird for her. Photograph: David Levene/Guardian

I buy quite a lot of dolls on tour. I love Soviet-era dolls from Russia and Ukraine. I like their style. They’re basic and quite unsentimental but there’s a real quirk to them.

I guess it helps if you’re a bit geeky. I like reading about what I collect, finding out the history behind them. When I find a new doll to hunt for, it raises my endorphins, I get excited. I’ll eventually find it and think: “That’s too expensive, I know I can find it elsewhere” – that’s the challenge and the joy. For me, collecting has got to be fun, so you can bring it into everyday life. I suppose I’m an extrovert with my collecting. Some women collect shoes and dresses, I collect dolls – it’s got to be showy in some way.